


School Holiday

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Affections [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Discipline, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-15
Updated: 2007-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Peri need a break, and the Brigadier probably does, too. Peri's happy to enjoy a little sun and surf. The Doctor has other plans while she's distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	School Holiday

"Peri," the Doctor announced, "What we require is a _holiday_."

Peri stared at the central column of the TARDIS dubiously as it started to move, and the inexplicable lights on the console started to flash. "Wasn't our last trip supposed to be a vacation, Doctor?"

"Well, yes," he said. He twisted one of the dials which seemed to want twisting. "But that was a simple misunderstanding. I'm sure we can avoid such things on our next trip."

Peri thought it was rather nice of him not to mention that the misunderstanding involved her thinking that the Lord High Anyuninik's wife was a particularly gaudy hat. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to aliens.

"So... where are we going?" she asked when the Doctor had stopped twisting knobs and flicking switches, and started staring off into space somewhere over her left shoulder.

"Hm? Oh," and he pulled a lever decisively, "I just thought of another friend of mine who could use a holiday, and thought we'd call on him."

Peri frowned as the TARDIS hummed contentedly toward their destination, and the Doctor hummed contentedly and headed into the corridors leading back into the heart of the machine. She hadn't been traveling with the Doctor long, just a couple of trips, but this was the first she'd heard him speak of old friends. Even Turlough and Kamelion had only merited a few sentences, and only when she specifically asked about them. She got the impression that the Doctor had needed to leave quite a few people behind, and would really prefer not to talk about it.

So who was this friend of his? Another Time Lord, maybe? She shrugged and headed back to her room, to get out of her ruined shirt. She'd find out when they landed.

* * *

Not a Time Lord, but a schoolteacher.

A very nice schoolteacher, who introduced himself as "Lethbridge-Stewart" and whom the Doctor kept calling "Brigadier." He was old enough to be her father, or maybe her grandfather. It was hard to tell. But he asked about her studies in botany, and talked about a plant expert he'd once met--or maybe it was a plant expert someone he'd worked with had once met. In any case, she'd never heard of him. The Doctor set the TARDIS for what he promised, really this time, was a peaceful and relaxing spot.

Fortunately, the Brigadier seemed just as dubious as she did about that claim.

"There, you see?" the Doctor announced when they finally stepped out onto the pristine, sparkling beach. "Perfectly idyllic."

"Hm," the Brigadier hmmed thoughtfully. "Yes, very nice."

The beach stretched out for a few yards ahead of them before the crashing waves devoured it. Warm, buttery sunlight made diamonds of every grain of sand. Peri put up her hands and grinned as the heat sank into her skin. "Oooh, Doctor, I love it!"

"Wonderful!" He handed her the beach towel. "Actually, I just remembered, I had something to show the Brigadier back in the TARDIS. Do you think you can amuse yourself on the beach for a while without us?"

"I can just about manage that," she said, grinning. She looked up and down the beach quickly, but aside from some groves of oddly red-blue palm trees the place was empty. "Anything I should look out for?"

"Not especially," the Doctor said. He already had one hand on the Brigadier's back, turning him back toward the TARDIS doors. "Just remember your suntan lotion."

She fumbled the bottle out from under the blanket to show him. "Got it, Doctor."

"Wonderful." He grinned. "Won't be long. Enjoy the afternoon."

And then they'd disappeared into the TARDIS, the door swinging shut behind them. Peri shrugged and set to spreading out the beach towel a few steps from the door. Old men were strange sometimes. What could possibly be in the TARDIS that was more fun than the beach?

Maybe later she'd go bodysurfing. For now... she pulled off her robe and lay back in her bikini, reaching lazily for the sunscreen. Now was the time to relax.

* * *

The Brigadier leaned against the wall of the TARDIS, avoiding the roundels, and watched the open door of the wardrobe room for signs of the Doctor's reemergence. "After all this buildup, Doctor, I hope this is worth it," he said, just to test the waters.

"I think you'll like it," the Doctor said, with just a trace of impudence.

"Hmmm," he said, and turned to consider the ship's roundels. He ran a finger over the lip of one and didn't find a trace of dust. How did he keep the place so confoundedly clean?

"What's the holdup, Doctor?" he asked when there had been no further updates for another minute.

"Hold on, hold on, I've nearly got it," the Doctor complained. "Humans somehow make these things look so blasted easy... one moment."

The Brigadier tapped his fingers against the roundel impatiently. Finally, after another few mumbled imprecations, the Doctor stumbled out, grinning. "Well?"

He could feel his jaw drop. The Doctor had, somehow, managed to beg, borrow, or steal a complete Brendon school uniform. The jacket, the trousers... everything was perfect, down to the tie, which was looped around his neck in a shoddy half-Windsor. It couldn't have been Turlough's uniform, no matter the Doctor's earlier jokes on the subject; this one fit. Mostly. Maybe a smidgeon too large.

"Well?" the Doctor said again, when he hadn't moved.

He closed his mouth and stepped forward. "Your tie is crooked," he said, reaching out to fix it. After a moment of trying to make his fingers smooth out the knot he gave up, grabbed it in both hands and pulled. The tie came forward with the rest of the Doctor attached, and he wound up with his back pressed against the damned irregular roundel-holes with his arms full of the Doctor and his mouth full of the Doctor's tongue, which was rather how he wanted it right now.

The Doctor had lost his Time Lord poise when they'd done, and was panting right along with him. "That's more like it," the Doctor said. "I--"

"Your tie is _still_ a mess," Alistair pointed out. "Where did you learn to tie that thing?"

The Doctor grinned sheepishly. "I never did properly," he admitted. "I learned to tie a bow-tie and a cravat, and mostly worked it out by watching Turlough."

"Well, we'll have to teach you something," he replied. "Do you have a desk?"

"Next room," the Doctor said, and jerked his head in that direction.

"Good," Alistair said. He took ahold of the sleeve of the Doctor's jacket and hauled him along until he was nearly tripping.

There was a _lovely_ desk in the next room. It was solid oak, polished to an almost golden shine, with a pile of papers under a paperweight on one corner to show it had been used. It looked even better when Alistair planted the Doctor in front of it and pushed at the small of his back until he leaned forward and spread his hands on that rich surface, long white fingers trembling slightly against the wood.

"You seem to have plans," the Doctor said, grinning over his shoulder. "I take it you like the uniform?"

He stroked his hand up the back of the Doctor's jacket. The fabric was ever-so-slightly threadbare, and chafed under his fingers. "It's astounding," he said. "It's..."

"Giving you ideas?" That _was_ a twitch of the hips; he saw it. Impudent. He had to bite back a grin.

"_Possibly_," he said, and this time he couldn't keep back his grin at how the Doctor's eyes widened, slightly.

"Now," he said, fishing through the drawers. In the second one down there was a wooden ruler that would probably go as an antique in 1983; it was just as new and shiny as the desk. "About your general presentation."

"Are you going to rap my knuckles with that?" the Doctor asked impudently.

Where he lay the ruler was not across the Doctor's knuckles. After the Doctor had gasped and had a moment to blink back the surprise, Alistair asked, "Any more cheek?"

His eyes were twinkling as he answered, "No, sir."

"Better. Now." He stepped back, behind the Doctor, and bent forward over him to murmur in his ear. "You're not exactly showing a positive attitude toward your superiors, are you?"

"Well," the Doctor said, "I don't know if you've ever seen me with my superiors--"

Alistair lay another good smack with the ruler across the seat of his trousers. "Trousers down, and stop lying to me. I won't tolerate it."

The Doctor winced, and bit back what looked like a smirk. "What _will_ you tolerate?"

"Very little. I suggest you don't get clever trying to find out."

The Doctor unfastened his trousers and wiggled until they were around his ankles. At Alistair's raised eyebrow he put his hands back on the desk.

He turned the ruler over in his hands a few times. No, it really wouldn't serve for what he had in mind, but it was a good place to start. "First," he said, "we have to deal with your present conduct."

The Doctor looked as though he was about to complain, then swallowed and said meekly, "Yes, sir."

Already an improvement. Alistair ran his hand over the curve of the Doctor's arse, felt him shiver through the thin fabric of his pants. Then he pulled his hand back and tapped him once with the ruler, gently, just enough to get his attention. "Six strokes with this. Count them out for me."

Another swallow, another "Yes, sir." Perfect. Getting his trousers off was always a good idea.

The Doctor gasped when the first stroke landed, then licked his lips and counted, "One." His eyes were fixed on the far edge of the desk, and he seemed perfectly composed after the moment, aside from the obvious bulge only partly hidden by his jacket. Alistair smirked in sympathy and lay another stroke down. "Two!"

He waited a few moments before three, strolled around to the Doctor's other side for a backhanded four, and followed up with five and six immediately. Then he snapped the elastic on the Doctor's pants and said, "Off with these, now."

He didn't watch--well, not _much_\--as the Doctor fumbled his underwear over his erection and down off his blushing arse. He put the ruler back in the drawer and pulled out what had been hiding partway under it: an American-style paddle, long and narrow, with a space on the back for the signature of the person being punished. A space that included the signatures of "Z. Heriot" and "V. Turlough", he noted with a raised eyebrow. The Doctor assumed the position again and gave him a glance over his shoulder.

"Eyes front," Alistair ordered, and got immediate compliance. He grinned. "Amazing, what a little discipline can do, isn't it, Doctor?"

"Yes, sir," the Doctor breathed.

"Something you've been in sore need of for some time." He turned the paddle over in his hands a few times, then settled his fingers around the grip. "I'd give you one for every order of mine you disobeyed, but I think that might kill you."

The Doctor moaned softly.

"I think we'll focus on some of your more stubborn personality quirks," he mused. "Your rudeness. Your smugness. One should always strive to cultivate an air of respect."

"Even when the person you're talking to is--ahh!" The hard smack of wood on flesh cut him off.

Alistair admired the bright red mark that developed, then walked around the desk until he could look the Doctor in the eye. "I almost forgot," he said mildly into that smoldering gaze. "Speaking out of turn."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and said quietly, directly, "Yes, sir."

God. Perfection. Alistair tucked the paddle under his arm for a moment and reached forward to cradle the Doctor's face in his hand. The Doctor closed his eyes and relaxed, barely, the double-pulse in his throat still hammering against Alistair's fingers. He let his fingers slip down to the Doctor's collar, then took a moment to finish straightening his tie, leaving it snug and neat around his throat.

Then he briskly strode back around the desk and readied the paddle. "Eighteen strokes," he said. "Count."

"Does the one before cou--aahh, one," the Doctor said as the Alistair cut him off with the first stroke. He tapped the paddle against the red mark gently, as a reminder, and got, "One, _sir_."

By three, he was sweating. By six, he was starting to wish he'd picked a far lower number and could rip the Doctor from the desk and ravish him right there.

On fifteen, the Doctor's voice broke, and he spent the last three strokes leaning heavily on his hands, shaking and pleading, sweat running down his legs and staining the back of his jacket.

"Eighteen-sir-PLEASE," the Doctor cried on the final stroke. Alistair dropped the paddle on the desk. There wasn't a bed in the room, but there was a sofa, and he somehow got himself and the Doctor over onto it without tripping either of them on the clothes they discarded on the way.

When he caught his breath the Doctor was on top of him, fumbling at the zip on his trousers. Alistair worked at the buttons on the Doctor's shirt, and finally got the last of them free. He pushed shirt and vest off the Time Lord in one piece and left the tie in place. The black-and-red-and-yellow stripes stood out against his pale skin, and the fabric was a convenient handle to bring him down for another kiss.

And then--God, then--the Doctor was caressing him and lowering himself onto him and surrounding him, and God where had he found time to prepare himself?--and suddenly it didn't matter what the Doctor looked like because he was _the Doctor_, and Alistair would trust him with his body, his life, his love.

When he blinked his eyes open again--and when had he closed them?--the Doctor was still resting atop him, making only the tiniest movements of his hips, a sinful smile on his face. A gorgeous Ganymede in a Brendon necktie and nothing else. Beautiful. He ran his hands down the Doctor's sides and around the curve of his hips to the heat still radiating from his buttocks. The Doctor shivered and caught his breath in a half-gasp, then grinned.

The ends of the necktie were fluttering in the air between them. Alistair reached up with one hand and unthreaded the knot, then slowly drew the fabric down, until it slipped free from the curve of his neck. He watched the Doctor's face as he rubbed the silk between his fingers and thumb, then wrapped the necktie around his cock, like weaving a maypole. The Doctor's eyes were wide, and he was breathing in short pants, his fingers clenching the back of the sofa for balance. Alistair pulled, gently, on the necktie, and as the fabric hissed over flesh the Doctor caught his breath in surprise and delight. "Oh, _Alistair_..."

"God," he said, tie forgotten, and grabbed the Doctor's hips and thrust, hard, trying to hold back just long enough, and the Doctor cried out and came, completely ruining the tie, probably, but GOD who could think about that oh GOD yes--

He lay slightly dazed as the Doctor moved off of him, only stirring when the Doctor returned with a warm washcloth to clean them both up. The sofa wasn't really big enough to curl up together on, but they managed somehow.

"So you liked the outfit, then?" the Doctor asked.

He chuckled. "I don't think I'm up for proving my appreciation any more thoroughly. I'm not thirty any more, you know."

"Mmmm," the Doctor said, and laughed. "I hope I'm not called on to sit down for at least a week. I'll have to deal with any threats to the universe standing."

"Or lying prone," Alistair suggested.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed, curling up closer and pressing his face into Alistair's neck.

He enjoyed the warmth unreservedly for a few seconds, then raised his head enough to murmur something in the Doctor's ear.

The Doctor jerked his head back to stare, and for a moment Alistair worried he'd terribly offended him, or worse, his tongue had slipped and he'd managed to say something horrendously inappropriate in Gallifreyan with regards to the Doctor's mother or maiden aunt or equivalent. "My accent's atrocious, I know," he said, after the Doctor hadn't said anything for a few seconds.

"Your accent is lovely," the Doctor whispered. He blinked, hard, and Alistair finally recognized his expression, one of painful awe. "Please, say it again?"

Alistair pulled him close and whispered the Doctor's Gallifreyan name again, long and liquid and lovely, and pretended to ignore the soft shudders and the heat of tears against his neck.

* * *

It had been _hours_, and Peri was drying off from her second round of bodysurfing in the glow of sunset when the Doctor and the Brigadier finally came out of the TARDIS. "About time, you two," she said when they approached her. "The water's already gotten cold. What did you do, Doctor, show him your etchings?"

The Brigadier coughed, and said, "Just a few pieces of sculpture he had in the back. And I wasn't really up for a swim, anyway."

"No, I'm with you," the Doctor agreed. "I'm not really feeling active just now. Contemplation would be a much more pleasant endeavor."

Peri shrugged. "Well, why don't you sit down and we'll watch the sunset?"

The Doctor and the Brigadier exchanged a glance. A long glance.

"I think I'll take a walk," the Doctor finally said. "Brigadier, why don't you tell Peri some stories from back at UNIT? Those exciting ones that you never made official reports of."

"Doctor," the Brigadier said chidingly, "I never left anything out of my official reports."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Even Omega's creature from through the black hole which ate most of UNIT HQ, that time when my other incarnations had to help us defeat his energy drain on the universe?"

The Brigadier frowned. "All right. I may have edited that one. Slightly."

"Well, then." He grinned. "I'll be... contemplating."

With that he strolled off, albeit a bit more carefully on the sand than normal. Peri turned to look at the Brigadier, who was watching him go, fondly. "Has he always been like this?"

"Hm?" he said, looking down. "Oh, no. He's often been very different. That's the thing about Time Lords." He turned to watch the Doctor's retreating back again. "And yet... part of him is always the same."

Peri blinked, squinting against the light of the setting sun. "I don't understand."

"Don't worry, travel with him long enough and you might," he said, wincing a bit as he sat down next to her. "Or you might not. That's the Doctor for you."

She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess I'll just take your word for it."

"Quite right," he said, and gave her a smile.

Peri smiled back, and then lay back on her elbows in the sunset of an alien world, watching the Doctor wander down the beach, contemplating the waves.


End file.
